


Hear Me

by phloridas



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Phandom Reverse Bang 2018, Strangers to Friends, piano player dan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 12:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phloridas/pseuds/phloridas
Summary: Phil is lost. Stuck in an unpaid editing internship that's nothing like he imagined and an exhausting retail job in the heart of Chicago, his life is a giant question mark and all he can do is worry. But maybe he can find a shred of meaning in Dan, a composition student who doesn't compose and whose dreams are lower than the piano pedals on the floor of the subway station.





	Hear Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Phandom Reverse Bang 2018! Thanks to Courtney (@danceswithsweaters on Tumblr) for her wonderful beta job, and Alexis (@lilacskylester) for creating the incredible gifs and edit that inspired this, which you can find [here](http://lilacskylester.tumblr.com/post/173637377409/my-art-pieces-for-the-phandomreversebang-i-based)! I hope you enjoy!

Someone’s playing piano in the Blue Line station.

Except...how the hell did they get a piano in here anyway? Phil’s lucky if he can find a couple inches where he’s not bumping arms or hips with someone. So an entire grand piano, from the sound of it, at least…?

Oh, wait. It’s just a small upright pushed into the front right corner by the escalators. Still, that’s gotta be  _ heavy _ , right? Or has it been there the whole time and Phil’s never noticed because no one was playing?

People sure are noticing now, though. The normal shuffle feels a lot more stunted as every second person, it feels, stops in their tracks to whip their heads around and around to find where the lovely music is coming from. Phil nearly stomps on a couple dress shoes in his haste. He taps his fingers rapidly against his black slacks.

Finally, he’s close enough to notice the chips of brown wood flaking off beneath the dull black paint and, more importantly, the man hunched behind it. Actually...at closer look, he appears more like a boy, with curly brown hair creating a fluffy little mountain atop his head and a deep crease between his downturned eyes. Phil has a strange urge to reach over and smooth it out.

He steps behind a pillar to rub at his sleeve and breathe through the new catch in his chest. Alright. Alright, this is fine. 

So there’s someone playing piano at the underground station. Someone... _ alright maybe he is kind of cute _ . Phil’s sure he knows what he’s playing but he can’t name it. 

Is it...Bach? Beethoven? Whatever it is, it’s very pretty and tinkly with a lot of fast high notes, sounding almost melancholy. Phil runs his eyes over the boy, from the tip of his curls to the slight hunch of his back. A bundle of words sizzles on the tip of his tongue, just dying to be set free. But he doesn’t  _ have _ to talk to him. Especially when Phil’s convinced he’ll trip over someone and end up smashing right into this guy and maybe breaking the piano.

If the universe wants him to say something, this guy will be back tomorrow. 

Right?

That’s what Phil tells himself as he stuffs his hands in his coat pockets and prepares himself for the inevitable blast of late January Chicago wind. Just as he steps on the up escalator, he shoots a tiny smile over his shoulder. 

It goes unnoticed. 

Well. That’s fine. He’s got his editing internship to focus on anyway. He doesn’t have time to be making new friends.

(Even if he’d kind of like to. No, he’d  _ really _ like to. But nobody needs to know that right now.)

 

\--

Phil almost falls over when he sees the piano again the next day. Well. There goes his week-long streak of not tripping off the platform.

He wraps his arms around himself, keeping his eyes trained on the white tile and avoiding any concerned glances. 

The music is a lot slower this time, somewhere between melancholy and blind hope. It’s so soft that Phil almost doesn’t hear it, even after he pulls his earbuds out.

But  _ damn _ is it beautiful.

Phil’s heart thuds against his chest, squeezing at the notes flowing from the boy growing closer and closer with each hurried step. His back is hunched tight as if he wants to curl himself into the piano, his long spine twisted into a question mark.

_ Well, that can’t be comfortable _ , Phil thinks. He’s right there now, close enough to reach out and brush the piano with his gloved fingers. He could say something to this boy. He could. He could even lay a gentle hand on his spine and another on the boy’s chest, pushing his back straight and hopefully saving him from future issues.

It’s the strangest thing. Phil can  _ see _ himself doing this, can feel how feather-soft this boy’s single dangling curl must be if Phil brushed it from his eye like he so wants to. He can even imagine how smooth the black cotton of the boy’s sweater must be, far too thin for this weather as Phil flattens out the wrinkles that have now gathered around his neck.

But he  _ can’t _ . His head and his heart are screaming completely different things at him, his arms are so stiff and everyone’s moving way too fast, Phil will surely crush someone if he tries to step aside, knowing his giant stature...everything’s so tight, his heart is in his throat, and…

Within seconds, he’s on the escalator whisking him up and away to Madison Street, with nothing but a lingering stare at the instrument growing smaller and smaller with each passing second.

_ It’s fine. Seriously.  _ Fine.

As Phil steps out into a whirl of snowflakes whipping across his face, though, the boy at the piano pulses in his mind. He looked so...lost. Like that keyboard was the only thing anchoring him to reality.

_ If he’s still there tomorrow, I’ll say something to him _ , Phil decides. Third time’s the charm and all.

_ Even if it’ll probably come out weird and maybe he’ll hate me. But you won’t know until you try, right? _

\--

He is still there.

There’s no reason for Phil to be this shocked. He’d spent the last two hours preparing himself for this. Conversation starters had been buzzing through his mind since the first drop of caffeine slipped into his veins, each one more desperate than the last.

So how come his insides are constricting as if he’s going off to war?

Phil almost loses the boy in the shuffle. He tries to stop his heart from sinking when the last note fades off. 

This should be a good thing. Now he can maybe pay attention and keep himself from stepping on someone’s foot.

Then the boy launches into something a little faster, notes tumbling from his fingers in...wait a second. That sounds  _ familiar. _

Goosebumps prickle under his four layers, Phil’s toes wiggling around in his work shoes. The tiny spark he felt the past two days is growing, almost overtaking him, and it’s all he can do to keep the goofy smile from overtaking his face. God, can these people get a  _ move on _ already?

A brunette with a skirt far too short for this weather eyes Phil as he slams into her pale pink purse. Phil can’t even stutter out a  _ sorry _ —his mind is too busy piecing together the tune pouring from this piano boy. Something about it pulls his mind back to high school, to his green and blue bedroom with Buffy plastered everywhere, to nights spent with his eyes glued to his crappy laptop until they burned.

Within seconds, his mind fills in the drumbeat and then Phil’s humming through his bitten-back smile. A drop of warmth seems to have fluttered over from the piano and made a home in Phil’s veins, pulling him closer and closer to the talented--

But  _ wait. _ Shit.

Phil doesn’t even know what words he’s humming.

_ You know, it sure would help if you actually paid attention to lyrics. Wouldn’t it? _

Well yeah, it would. But his brain doesn’t have to be such an asshole about it.

He can’t. He  _ can’t. _

How the hell do you tell someone  _ hey, I like the song you’re playing but I kinda forgot what song it was _ ? Apparently there’s some heavy guitar in there too, if Phil’s memory is correct. And a desperation that claws at Phil’s chest. But what are those damn  _ words? _

Everyone feels so much closer to Phil, as if they’re all packed like sardines even though he’s got room to swing his arms if he’d like. Even the high ceiling feels inches above his head. The rusty old piano’s getting closer and closer. But the music just keeps  _ going _ and the crowd just keeps  _ moving _ , oblivious to the war waging on in Phil’s head.

One last glance at the boy and--yeah no, this isn’t happening.

_ But you have to! _

_ But..but… _

Everything in Phil is tight, tight, tight as he stumbles against the flow of people, earning some annoyed glances that just make him want to curl deeper into himself. Finally, he finds the pillar from a couple days ago, away from the crowd but still close enough to get a decent view of Piano Boy. His shoulders are still so hunched. Phil’s heart twinges a little, even with everything else rattling around inside him.

They’re at the part where the piano completely drops off and a screeching guitar solo starts. Phil can feel it all the way down to his toes. But instead of trying to replicate that, Piano Boy continues that same melody, just a bit quicker now. It’s still got all the depth and desperation of the original guitar solo, though.

Who  _ is _ this boy?

And why the hell does it seem like Phil’s the only one who notices him?

Sure, there’s glances, especially as the waterfall-like trickle heightens to a near banging. But none of them last long enough to catch the boy’s lips parting slightly or the squint of his eyes or even the tiny shake of his head as he storms through the bridge of the song. There’s still too many pounding footsteps, too many trains clattering into and out of the station, for Phil to tell if Piano Boy is actually singing or not.

Too bad he can’t read lips.

Phil’s heart is in his throat when a single fluffy curl (the same one from yesterday, in fact) falls into Piano Boy’s eye. There’s a moment where Phil’s hands are shaking,  _ needing _ to experience that feathery softness for himself, maybe get a feel for that porcelain smooth skin too…

_ No. Dude, come on. You don’t even know him. You haven’t even talked to him. _

Then, just as suddenly as the banging starts, it’s gone, replaced by the waterfall sounds again. It’s more haunting this time, though, drawing on an emotion Phil never got from his headphones but still so raw and angsty and….teenager-like. It pulls a string in Phil’s heart he never knew existed.

He  _ has _ to say something.

But he  _ can’t. _

Everything seems to move in slow motion as the boy slides his hands (big and gloriously soft, Phil notices) off the keys and the final notes dissipate into the air. Streams of people continue to stride by on both sides of Phil, every high heel and dress shoe feeling like it’s stomping right on his chest. He’s definitely going to be late for his internship if he doesn’t start moving soon. Phil’s stomach rolls over.

Then the boy sighs, the motion traveling all through his body and pushing him into a slump so deep that his forehead touches the front of the piano.

And suddenly, something beyond him seems to be pulling Phil over, making him stumble across the bright white tiles even as his brain and stomach are screaming in protest and his skin is burning underneath all his layers. It’s like a string connecting him to Piano Boy that won’t stop tugging at Phil until he’s inches away, close enough to reach out and rest his hand on the wood if he liked. Or atop the boy’s shoulder…

“E--excuse me?” Phil’s voice sounds far away, even to him, and he’s sure it’s shaking all over the place.

The boy blinks rapidly, his entire body stiffening as his head turns slowly to Phil and he tugs at the sleeves of his leather jacket under the keyboard. Phil’s heart sinks as he catches a flash of terror flickering behind dull brown eyes. But he  _ has _ to keep going now that he’s here. Clamming up would only make him look more like a freak.

“I’m--I’m sorry, I didn’t wanna disturb you but--I just wanted to say, I really liked that song you were playing just now. Even if I can’t think of what it is, I--you were really good at it. From, uh, what I could hear anyway.”

Flames are licking at Phil’s face, he’s sure the entire station is watching the two of them and someone will pull him away at any second. But when he forces himself to turn back to Piano Boy’s face, there’s a tiny smile that pushes craters into his cheeks and a new, softer light in his eyes. Phil’s heart stutters.

“Really? You like Muse too?”

His voice is soft yet musical, just like Phil imagined but better. It feels like tea and honey and wrapping yourself in your coziest blankets on a dreary day. It even dulls a bit of the idiocy he feels at failing to recognize his favorite band.

Phil slaps a hand to his forehead, elbow coming to rest on the piano for just a second before he jerks it away. “Oh my god, are you  _ kidding _ me? They were my favorite band in high school, probably still are now! I can’t believe I couldn’t get that!”

Piano Boy seems caught somewhere between a laugh and a frown. Phil’s lips can’t help curling up a little at that and soon the boy lets out a loud bark of laughter. It sets off a glowing feeling in Phil’s chest because...he  _ did  _ that?

“I mean, I don’t blame you,” Piano Boy says, already appearing a bit looser. “Sunburn is ridiculously old and one of the few decent songs on that shit album. And I know I’m not exactly the best at it…” His voice trails off as his eyes dart back to the piano keys. The tiny sigh that escapes feels like a punch to the gut Phil never could’ve prepared himself for.

“No, no, no, I meant it when I said you were really good!”

“R—really?”

“Yeah. I felt like a teenager for a second, but in a good way, you know? I...I  _ felt _ that. Way more than anything Matt did with  _ The 2nd Law _ last year.” Phil offers up a half smile. It’s about the best he can do with the snakes thrashing in his gut and the voices screaming at him to shut up, that he said too much, that this was really  _ weird _ for a first meeting…

But Piano Boy smiles, bigger this time, and is gazing at Phil with something Phil can’t quite place. Whatever it is, though, has Phil’s chest glowing with a gentle warmth that’s unfamiliar yet welcoming all the same.

And then his eyes just have to flit to the giant clock above Piano Boy’s head. And...oh  _ fuck. _

“Shit, I--I’m sorry, but I really have to go. I’m gonna be late for my internship.” Phil stuffs his hands in his coat pockets, running his thumb back and forth over his wallet. “You really are good, though. I’ve been meaning to say that all week. Have a nice rest of the day, alright?”

Just as quickly as the light comes, it extinguishes from Piano Boy’s eyes, and a shadow falling across his face sends Phil’s stomach sinking. He does muster up a smile and a thanks before Phil power walks out of the underground station, taking the escalator steps two at a time.

For the whole five blocks, all Phil’s mind can do is replay his last words over and over, cursing himself for stopping in the first place, so sure that he just made an ass of himself and is continuing to do so now as he practically runs down the street.

He’s lost the ten minutes of buffer time he usually gives himself, so by the time the elevator doors are shutting on him and a short middle-aged man, Phil’s already unzipping his coat and pushing his phone deeper in his pocket. Shit fuck  _ shit. _ Gerald better not notice he’s running in just barely on time.

As he stuffs his coat onto the first hook he sees, Phil realizes he never got Piano Boy’s name.

For the first time ever, he’s actually excited for tomorrow morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! As of right now, this does not have an upload schedule yet but I hope to get the next chapter out in the next week or two! As always, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://phloridas.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](http://twitter.com/phloridas) @phloridas, where I'll either be screaming about Dan and Phil's latest Instagram stories or lamenting my other wips I somehow thought it was a good idea to write at the same exact time. And thank you so much for commenting, if you choose to! My anxiety issues have recently been making it quite hard for me to reply but just know that I hugely appreciate each and every one of you! <3 I hope you're having a wonderful day/night wherever you are, you deserve it!


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